


Waiter, There's a Flea in My Soup

by TeamAlphaQ



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anri is an adorable chef, Crack, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Food, I'm going to actively try not to write angst this time, Izaya's his student/rival, Like not even once, Lots of Food, M/M, Shiki is a stoic little muffin, Shizuo's basically Gordon Ramsey, Will make you hungry, cooking au, why did i do this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-10 12:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamAlphaQ/pseuds/TeamAlphaQ
Summary: Shizuo Heiwajima's currently one of the most successful chefs in the whole world and he's certainly the youngest. At only twenty-eight, he's made a name for himself as a hot tempered blond who's not about to take shit from anyone.Then Izaya shows up. Izaya's a twenty-three year old graduate from a prestigious cooking school, who wants to be the best. His way to accomplishing this goal? Work under Shizuo, arguably the best cook in the world, and surpass him.Needless to say, they don't get along.Otherwise known as: It's all fun and games until someone tries to cut off someone else's fingers and then it's just fun.This is the cooking AU that no one knew they needed but in reality, no one needed. Enjoy it anyway.





	1. Congee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanra_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanra_chan/gifts).



> ( *v*) You're here? you clicked on it? You make me so happy!
> 
> This story is for Kanra-chan. After her story The Bachelor (hilarious by the way, check it out), featuring none other than Gordon Ramsey himself, I was feeling inspired.
> 
> And thus this monstrosity was born.
> 
> Buckle up darlings because I'm the one driving this train wreck in motion!
> 
> ENJOY!

_ Four cups of stock, added to the two/thirds cup of rice. _ It’s a stock that he’d thrown together but even by itself, it smells divine. Each piece of it had been carefully chosen and simmered to perfection. The aroma alone would make your mouth water.  _ Ginger root, large chunks to add to the flavor. _ He adds several other things as well. It’s a personal blend of his. Most of these things are at this point.

Into the large bottomed pan the components go and a second later flames leap up under them. With smooth movements, he stirs, evenly distributing the ginger, then the lid goes on. It needs to simmer for an hour, though he’s discovered just five minutes more gives it a better, more pleasing consistency. 

Moving onto the garnish, he grabs for what he needs.  _ Bok choy, steamed until soft and pliant. _ The chopping knife he handles is clearly cared for, sharpened to a fine edge and kept safe at all times. He lowers it to the chopping block and the way he carves the fresh greens is like watching an intricate dance. His hands and the knife are the dancers, partners in a graceful waltz that only someone like him knows.

These he puts on a bamboo strainer that sits inside a pot, over boiling water.  _ Bring to a boil, reduce to a simmer, cover until tender. _ Another pot is added to the stove. As the lid is lifted from the cooking rice, a heavenly scent fills the room. It brings to mind a spring day, just after a rain, cherry blossoms mixing with the rich smell of turned earth. With quick precise movements, the cooking rice is stirred, bringing forth yet more delectable smells. 

Then it’s capped again as he moves on.

_ Fried garlic, fresh and thinly sliced, browned in a bit of oil.  _ Again his hands return to the chopping block. The knife is rinsed before it begins slicing through the peeled garlic. Its scent is a sharp overlay to the sweet, heady scent of the other cooking foods. Once he’s finished cutting them into perfectly uniform slices, he tosses them into the oil he’s already got warming on the stove. It spits at him but he pays it no heed. 

The oil is a new kind, one he picked up in a downtown market. It adds to the scene he’s painting with the cooking food. You can almost see someone walking down a winding path through the cherry blossom trees, cloak billowing out behind them. As it seeps into the garlic, the resulting reaction gives you a clear picture of the face. Sharp, refined, with high cheekbones and pale ivory skin.

Turning the heat off the moment the garlic is properly fried, his fingers find the scallions.  _ Trimmed and thinly sliced, put together with shredded ginger steeped in rice wine and chopped green chillies.  _ First he turns however and checks the bok choy. The gentle smell is like a soft breeze that ripples through the scene he’s already created.

Moving again to his chopping block, he makes quick work of the scallions and chilies, turning them into perfectly sized pieces in seconds. Leaving these two ingredients in a bowl, he moves to the ginger, still steeping in rice wine. Draining the rice wine into another container to be used later, he takes the ginger and stirs it in. 

There’s a river in the garden, the spice in the chilies  giving you the idea of fast moving water while the ginger is a solid bridge across it. The figure conjured up moves as he adds it to the fried garlic. In your mind, you can see the figure turn as the scents change again. The expression on the figure's face is still unclear, but only for a moment. 

The bok choy come off the stove a moment later and are added to the garnish. It smells divine and looks almost as good. If you inhaled, you’d see the slight beginnings of a half smile and raven hair in how the tang of the garlic meets the breath of air that’s the steamed bok choy. He doesn’t see these images though, he instead is focused on the dish itself.

Everything in the empty kitchen is still save for what he’s bringing to life. That being said, it’s like watching a single violin player on a stage. So elegant and beautiful, the rest of the instruments need not intervene.

Stirring the rice that’s been reduced to the consistency of porridge, he gives it another few vigorous stirs before turning off the stove and fishing out the roots he’d used to help flavor the rice. Everything about it is beauty in motion, each component coming together so perfectly as this masterpiece draws to a close.

_ Rice wine, poured in after taking it off heat.  _ Uncorking the rice wine, he dashes it in and suddenly, the face in your mind's eye becomes clear. Bright, red eyes stare straight ahead as a tear slips down that ivory cheek. As the garnish is added carefully to each of the four bowls that has been laid out and the soy sauce he’d been experimenting with last week is added right along with some of the oil he used to fry the garlic in. 

Finally, it’s done. The curtain draws to a close on the performance. Most importantly, the food is finished and finally, his hands still.

Suddenly, a bright light invades the kitchen as the switch is flipped. Instantly, Shizuo Heiwajima is almost blinded.

“Fucking hell, get out of my fucking kitchen!”

“It’s not your kitchen if you gave it to me,” comes the clipped voice of none other than Namie Yagiri. Shizuo groans as the woman walks into the restaurant kitchen, her heels clicking on the tile floor.

“It’s my name on the deed,” Shizuo growls, rubbing his eyes before going about cleaning his chopping knife and putting it away carefully.

“Yeah and it’s me who runs it while you’re off visiting your other dozen successful restaurants,” Namie points out, glaring at him. “Any reason why the great Shizuo Heiwajima is up at one in the morning making Congee?”

“Ah,” he rubs the back of his neck, looking away sullenly. “There were some homeless people outside. They kept digging shit out of the fucking trash, I can’t fucking sleep listening to that racket so I made them something.” Shizuo shrugs. “And I can do what I want.”

Namie rolls her eyes. “You’re ten years my junior, how the hell did I end up following orders from a twenty-eight year old?”

“It’s because I’m a better and more successful fucking cook than you are,” Shizuo grumbles, his words coming out naturally volatile. Namie, he had to admit, was one of his best head chefs he’d ever hired, but her food lacked something, something that was inside her and couldn’t be fixed with mere practice. Which is why she isn’t him at this point and is instead simply running one of the most well known restaurants in Hong Kong

Details, you know?

Taking a deep breath, drawing in the perfect aroma of the dishes he’s setting on a tray to take outside, Namie’s brows furrow. “You’re still upset?”

“Of course I’m fucking upset,” Shizuo huffed. “He was a total bastard and he was lucky I didn’t kill him.”

“I was there Shizuo, I saw it, I tasted what he made,” Namie looks at Shizuo levely, her eyes betraying nothing. “He belongs somewhere he can thrive, after graduating from-”

“Do I look like I give a fuck where he went to school?” Shizuo demanded, his eyes narrowed. Even talking about the man from earlier was setting him on edge, actually on edge and not just this fairly typical of him sharpness. “I’m never going to let a piece of shit like him step foot in any of my kitchen. Ever.”

As he walked towards the side door and props it open, Namie sighs. “I’m telling you Shizuo, he’s different. You aren’t giving him a chance.” Then she leaves, abandoning Shizuo to his task of feeding the homeless outside his restaurant. 

The family looks up as he walks out, the little girl’s mouth falling open in awe as the smell hits her first. Her brother cheers as he sees what Shizuo has and their mother is practically in tears, as is the father. They all reach for the food before withdrawing their hands nervously as if unsure what they’re supposed to do.

“There’s more where this came from if you want it,” Shizuo grunts, though his tone has softened considerably. “Knock if you want it, I’ll be in there smoking.” Handing the family the tray, Shizuo watches them for a moment as they all distribute the bowls before leaving. He almost wants to stay to watch their faces as they eat, but he knows that he’s too upset to truly take pleasure in causing these people joy.

So instead he gets inside and shuts the door. 

The moment he’s alone, Shizuo lights up and takes a comforting drag of nicotine. His mind wanders back to two days ago and the man who had left him in such a foul state. Raven hair, fine face, chapped lips and a tongue that almost put his own to shame. He’d been stubborn and obstinate and Shizuo had wanted nothing to do with him.

And yet the food he’d made for Shizuo, Namie, and the owner of the restaurant Shizuo had in Tokyo, Shiki, had been beyond good. Hell, even Shizuo who was more accustomed to picking out every single little problem with a dish and ranting about it had been impressed. But it was the personality behind that food, the smug snide conniving  _ bastard _ that had served him that made Shizuo’s blood boil.

_ Why am I still conflicted over this… _ digging into his pocket, Shizuo finds the card at once, the spiky, slanted scrawl of the man’s phone number almost glows under the light. _ I should fucking burn it. _ But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he pulls out his phone and dials the number then and there.

The man on the other end picks up on the first ring.


	2. Tuna Melts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Izaya acts like a piece of shit and Shizuo reacts as one might expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasps* So you kept on reading!! That must mean it's at least a little good, right?
> 
> I'm having fun with it at least, whatever else is true of it. They're just such wonderful characters to play with.
> 
> Bundles of love to Kanra-chan for giving me this wonderful idea in the first place.
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Two Days Ago _

 

“Do you have any idea how  _ rare _ it is for someone to actually get in?” From behind the desk, Haruya Shiki raises his eyebrows at the boy in front of him. To his credit, the boy doesn’t so much as twitch, even though Shiki’s frown is sharp enough to cut glass. Letting out a small huff of air, the older chef steepled his fingers. “You’re twenty-three, what makes you think you’ve even got a shot.”

“You called me back in, didn’t you?” The boy’s voice is soft, dangerous, giving lie to what’s behind the soft raven hair and elegant face. “So yes, Shiki-san,” he all but purrs. “I  _ do _ think I’ve got a shot. I think I have more than a shot.”

Stiffening at how self-assured the boy is, Shiki grinds his teeth together and looks down at the papers under his hands. Normally, he wouldn’t have even looked twice at a  _ child _ like this but the truth is, the boy is good. Very good. Possessing the most spotless and impressive record he’s seen in a long time, Shiki couldn’t just  _ not _ call him in. He’s a professional after all and it’s his job to find people who can show some talent.

That being said, this boy makes him bristle.

“You’re cocky,” Shiki says, leaning back, an unimpressed look on his face. “And you’re too sure of yourself. You’ll fail, trust me.” If he can get the boy to leave of his own accord, it won’t be his fault. Of course, the boy is stubborn, unfortunately so.

Red eyes gleam as a thin mouth twists up into a smirk. “I have every reason to be cocky, I’m the best applicant you’ve seen in a long time.”  _ Damn, how does he know that? Is he just bluffing, hoping to get lucky? _

Frustrated, Shiki picks up the boy’s resume and shuffles the papers in an attempt to distract himself. “That’s a ridiculous claim to make. I despise prideful people.” That much is true. Shiki’s not about to tell the boy he had hit the mark with his words. Truth is, this boy is impressive enough that he sent a copy of his resume straight to the top. He hadn’t wanted to do but he hadn’t really had a choice.

The boy leans forward, tilting his head as he does so. Nothing Shiki says seems to be able to shake him at all. Clicking his tongue, he shakes his head. “I can see it on your face Shiki-san, you’re furious with me, are you not? Frustrated that I’m every bit as good as I make myself out to be.”

“I see people like you every day,” Shiki scoffs.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” the boy croons, his voice delighted, darkly so. He’s enjoying making Shiki squirm, it’s evident on his face. “I’m talented, I’m brilliant, I’m young, and I know that I’m going to get even better. What do I not have to offer?”

Shiki opens his mouth to answer, but he’s cut off by a shout that echoes through the floor. “YOU CALL THAT MISOSHIRU? CAUSE ALL I FUCKING SEE IS A FEW ONIONS IN RED PASTE!” There are several loud crashes before that same furious voice yells, “DO IT AGAIN AND DO IT FUCKING RIGHT THIS TIME!”

At that furious voice, the boy’s eyes light up. Shiki notices this but doesn’t have a chance to comment on it because there’s the furious sound of feet on the stairs and the next second, the office door flies open. The man that stands there is blond, tall and has a vein ticking on his forehead. He opens his mouth to say something before noticing the boy standing directly before him and glaring at him.

“Who the hell are you?” he demands, his voice significantly less loud than it had been downstairs.

Though he can’t see the boy’s face from where he sits behind the desk, Shiki would have bet a fair amount of money he was smirking. “Izaya Orihara,” he purrs, that voice dripping past his lips. “And you need no introduction, Shizuo Heiwajima.”

At that, Shizuo’s eyebrows hike up and he looks at Shiki, whose mouth turns down in frustration as he looks off to the side. Let Shizuo deal with him, the man’s enough to scare even the toughest cook. “You’re the one Shiki mentioned, aren’t you.” It’s phrased like a question but it’s very clearly a statement of fact. 

Izaya mrits with laughter. “How amusing, Shiki-san has been spending the past few minutes trying to convince me I was worthless.” Shiki actually groans at that, rubbing his temples as he does so. He’s waiting for Shizuo to blow up at Izaya, hoping for it actually. There’s no way the boy will be able to take it. “And yet he mentioned me to you. How intriguing.”

“Oi, don’t get a big head!” Shizuo barks, glaring at Izaya as if trying to kill the man with a glare alone. “You’re probably still shit.”

“Well, you’d have to taste my food to figure that out, now wouldn’t you Shizu-chan.” At that, Shiki’s head shoots up and he stares at Shizuo in something like fear because fuck, when was the last time someone was  _ that _ disrespectful to the chef and lived to tell of it? But Izaya’s just leaning forward and smirking up at Shizuo as if it’s no big deal.

The vein in Shizuo’s forehead pulses and the grin on his face is more of a death sentence than anything else. “Fucking  _ what _ did you call me?” he growls, his voice heralding an explosion.  _ Well, at least it’ll get rid of Izaya... _

“What,” Izaya asks, his tone nothing short of gleeful. “Do you not like your nickname Shizu-chan?” Shizuo’s face is nothing but fury and it only seems to excite Izaya more. “But you’re just so  _ adorable _ when you get all angry like this, I can hardly help myself.”

“MY NAME IS SHIZUO HEIWAJIMA!!” the chef bellows, golden eyes alight with fire. “AND YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A PIECE OF SHIT WHO THINKS HE CAN COOK!” Shiki watches this with no small amount of anticipation but infuriatingly enough, Izaya stands his ground. No, he doesn’t just stand his ground. He practically advances on Shizuo at that.

“Then let me show you what I can do,” Izaya tells Shizuo, his voice low and reasonable as opposed to Shizuo’s furious roar. “If I’m such a horrible cook Shizu-chan, then you’ll have no qualms throwing me out, right?”

Shizuo’s chest heaves, he’s beyond pissed. Shiki hasn’t seen him like this in years, didn’t know that he could get this riled up by a little upstart who thought he was worth something. Honestly, Shiki’s a little nervous. He knows only too well that when he’s not cooking personally, Shizuo can be temperamental at best. More than that, Shiki’s seen the man lift, throw and breath things that shouldn’t be able to be lifted, thrown or broken.

And Izaya’s standing right in his way, grinning like he’s got a death wish. While he doesn’t want to have to deal with Izaya anymore, Shiki also doesn’t want to have to deal with the paperwork that Shizuo lifting, throwing or breaking Izaya will result in. At his side, Shizuo’s fingers clench and the man behind the desk can just  _ see _ what’s about to happen and he almost wants to stop it but doesn’t dare get in the way.

Then, something unexpected happens.

“Tonight, eleven, in the kitchen downstairs,” Shizuo spits, his jaw tight. “Using whatever there is leftover after the evening rush. Shiki, myself, and our colleague Namie will be judging you. You have one chance.” He takes a deep breath like it’s all he can do not to kill Izaya right then and there. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

Izaya. Fucking.  _ Bows. _ “But of course Shizu-chan, I trust you won’t go easy on me.” Swishing past the blond cook, hardly caring when they brush up against each other in the process, the Raven vanishes down the stairwell, cackling all the way. Watching Shizuo nervously, Shiki takes a fraction of a second to compose himself before looking up at the man evenly, an eyebrow raised.

“I thought you’d throw him out,” Shiki comments, leaning back in his chair and relaxing somewhat. “You’ve kicked actual employees out for less.”

Shizuo’s nostrils flair and it’s like he’s surrounded, wreathed in smoke. “I still fucking want to, is that shitty  _ flea _ really the one you sent me the resume of?” He looks like he wants to strangle Izaya, actually kill him, not just scream in his face. “FUCK!” the man spits suddenly, slamming his fist into the wall beside him. Shiki pretends not to notice the large crater left behind. He’ll call someone in to fix it later.

“You didn’t have to give him a chance,” Shiki points out, trying not to sound accusatory. “You could have kicked him to the curb. We can find a thousand like him.” It wasn’t true but he had to say it, had to prod Shizuo that much more because he honestly  _ didn’t _ understand. 

Shizuo looked up at Shiki and there was something so frustrated about the way he narrowed his eyes that the man almost started to get why the blond hadn’t thrown Izaya out. “You and I both know that’s bullshit. He’s here isn’t he? You called him back in and I trust your judgement on who’s good material. Beyond that, I trust my own judgement more. If he’s as good as he says he is-” Shizuo took a deep breath. “Then he’s got what it takes.”

Which is why, six hours later, Shiki’s sitting at the minimally lit bar, talking to Namie Yagiri while Shizuo mixes drinks for them behind the counter, wondering why the hell this is even happening.

“So he’s a piece of shit, so what?” Namie argues, gratefully accepting the drink Shizuo offers her. “So was Masaomi at times and you hired him pretty damn quick if I remember correctly. Hell, you put him in charge of the American branch without batting an eye. Why’s this Izaya kid any different.”

“Masaomi wasn’t nearly so prideful,” Shiki says, looking into the Brass Monkey Shizuo’s handed him before sighing softly. “But then, he didn’t have the spotless record Izaya has.”

“Fucking pisses me off,” Shizuo growls, his hand tightening around the tumbler. Shiki furrows his brow in worry, hoping Shizuo will think enough not to shatter it in his fist. At the point where it seems about to burst however, Shizuo’s grip relaxes. “He fucking told me not to go easy on him, who the fuck does that, huh?”

Shiki shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. It’s not quite a traditional Brass Monkey but then, nothing Shizuo touches ever comes out without being improved in some way. Just by tasting it he can tell the blond chef really is upset, not merely disgruntled. 

“Someone who’s got a lot of confidence,” Namie says easily, looking bored. “Which he clearly does.” Frowning slightly, she taps her foot against the side of the bar before asking, “Why did you tell him he could only use what was in the kitchen? You know it’s usually wiped clean by the end of the night and most of the backup food is down in the freezers.”

Shizuo snorts, actually managing a half smile. “If he’s as good as he claims, he’ll have plenty to work with. If he’s just some pampered shithead who’s used to having whatever he needs, then he’s not good enough.”

The sound of a door snapping closed shakes them all from their conversation. Turning with Namie, Shiki’s unsurprised to see Izaya sashaying into the room, on of his infuriating grins on his face.  _ If he wasn’t so prideful, _ he thinks, taking in the more kitchen appropriate attire coupled with the most ridiculous fur trimmed coat he’s ever seen,  _ I’d probably get along with him. _

Smiling like he  _ knows _ they’ve been talking about him but doesn’t give a damn, Izaya tilts his head up and focuses on Shizuo. For a moment, there’s a crackle of what feels like electricity and the hairs on the back of Shiki’s neck rise.  _ He  _ hates _ Izaya, why is he even tolerating him for this long? _ Thankfully, the moment passes.

“I assume everything’s in order,” Izaya says, his voice dripping with mockery. It’s so condescending Shiki can’t help but clench his fist and he sees Namie do the same. Behind them, there’s a crunching sound as Shizuo digs his fingers into the surface of the bar.

“Yes,” Shizuo growls, sounding like he wants to hurt something. “You’re going to need to take that fucking thing off first,” he adds, gesturing at Izaya’s coat. 

Ignoring Shizuo, something that clearly only pisses the chef off more, Izaya turns to Namie. “Ah,” he trills, his eyes lighting up with manic glee. “And you must be Namie-san. What a  _ pleasure _ to meet you.”

Stiffening, she glares at him. “Trust me, it’s not mutual.” The words only make him laugh.

“Let’s just get this over with!” Shizuo snaps. 

“Of course, Shizu-chan~” Shooting him yet another infuriatingly teasing smiles, Izaya slips out of his strange coat, but not before pulling a leather wrapped knife out of an inside pocket.  _ His knife.  _ Every true chef had one knife they cared for and used more than any other. Shiki has to give him some credit, it looks well taken care of. Not something he’d expected.

As he walks towards them, Shizuo grabs an apron and throws it at Izaya, who catches it smoothly before walking past them and into the door that clearly leads to the kitchen. Watching the swinging door close behind the Raven, Shizuo takes a moment to breath before glancing behind him at Namie and Shiki. “If I kill him, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With those words, he follows Izaya, his footsteps quite a bit heavier.

Looking to Namie, Shiki says, “I dare say we should follow him, just on the off chance he isn’t kidding.”  _ A very real possibility,  _ he thinks, grimacing.

“Might as well.”

The first thing they both notice upon entering the kitchen is that Shizuo is silent. Usually he’d already be going off on whoever he was watching, finding flaws with  _ everything _ they did, but right now, he’s just standing there, eyes narrowed and a frown on his face.

Izaya, conversely, is flitting about the kitchen, taking inventory as efficiently as one can. “There’s very little in the refrigerators,” he comments, humming as he does so. “I take it you have a freezer room to keep the extra ingredients you can’t get on short notice.” When no one answers, he doesn’t seem to care.

Continuing to rifle through the stainless steel behemoth, Izaya mutters, “Ah, I see you have some tuna leftover. Quite a bit actually. Planning to use it in a soup?” Though Shizuo’s eyes are boring holes in the man, Izaya doesn’t acknowledge him and the blond still doesn’t go off on him. Halfway inside the fridge at this point as he is, the man croons, “Oh, what have we here?” Pulling out a bowl, he sniffs it. “Milk bread…” he muses, before smiling and setting it on the counter, grabbing a towel as he does so and covering the bowl.

And so it goes on. None of the experienced cooks say a word while Izaya creates his own strings of broken thoughts to fill the empty air. It’s only after about fifteen minutes of this does Shiki realize that Izaya’s already started to cook. Though it hadn’t looked like it remotely, the entire time he’s been moving, he’s been picking things up and starting to arrange them as he needs to.

It’s the sudden pile of vegetables appearing on one of the kitchen counters that clues him in. From the look Namie’s got on her face, she’s trying to calculate what Izaya’s making. Shiki does something similar, but he focuses more on how easily Izaya seems to conserve his energy by doing everything as effectively as possible.

Both of them are clearly waiting for Shizuo to go off because, well, he  _ always _ does but he keeps on staying silent. It’s only once Shiki sees his brow tick that he realizes the man honestly  _ wants _ to yell about something but by the intense scrutiny he’s viewing the scene with, he can’t yet find anything.

Meanwhile, Izaya’s food is actually starting to get somewhere. Flicking the towel off of the dough, he smiles delightedly. Pulling out a small bread pan from one of the cupboards, he grabs for the butter he’s had softening for a minute or two and uses it to grease the pan. The more he works, the quicker his movements go and Shiki almost has trouble keeping up with how fast he flits through things, almost like he’s got every minute accounted for perfectly.

He spends a few moments laying out several ingredients before separating an egg and saving the yoke. After watching his hands, Izaya moves back to the rising dough. It’s only once he’s rolling out the dough into an oval that Shiki realizes why the boy’s movements are drawing such attention. Everything he does, it’s a dance. And though Shiki can think of several of his own cooks that could be said to dance while they create, it’s nothing this coordinated and practiced.

Rolling up the dough into a fat log, Izaya sets it in the buttered pan almost lovingly before taking heavy cream and brushing it over the top of the dough. Then it’s sliding it into the oven, which had been preheating while he did other things. The moment it’s in, he’s back to the counter, his hands dancing over the ingredients he has there. As things start to open and mix together, the smells start to invade the kitchen.

There’s the sharp tang of the lime juice that mixes with the harsh vinegar and mustard. It puts in Shiki’s mind the idea of sharp steel and gritted teeth. As he measures in the ingredients, as ever caught in a dance that only he knows, Izaya’s face forms into a peaceful expression, like he’s hearing the music his own hands are creating. 

The yoke, the salt, they’re added before Izaya whisks the mixture briskly. There’s more sharpness, even though it’s mellowed out by the other ingredients. But you can still see it, a sharp katana, wielded by a firm hand that knows its craft well enough to make the blade as dangerous or as harmless as he wants at will. As the oil is added and the mayonnaise Izaya’s just created from scratch takes it’s shape, Shiki glances across at Shizuo.

His eyes are closed and he’s breathing deeply, not to calm down, but to take in the scents swirling around the kitchen. The bread which has almost finished baking is filling up the empty space, adding to the image that the mayonnaise has started. You can see the fighter now, feel the warm air billowing around him, and though there’s sweat dripping down his face, his movements are controlled entirely. 

Pulling out the loaf of bread, Izaya hums in delight and leaves it in the pan to be dealt with later. At this moment, he’s pulling down a pan and lighting the burner beneath it with a flick of his wrist. Dashing oil into it, Izaya turns to the chopping block. Taking the zucchini, he finally reveals his knife. The thing is almost evil in appearance and yet darkly beautiful. The simple choice of a knife says a lot of a cook and this one fits Izaya perfectly with it’s black blade and creamy handle that almost sings in the boy’s grasp. 

With movements quick enough to rival even Shizuo, who’d always been astonishingly fast with a blade, Shiki watches as the vegetable is sliced before being tossed into the pan. It’s at the exact moment the oil starts bubbling that the zucchini lands and it’s so perfectly timed, it’s almost unbelievable. Izaya moves with perfect accuracy as he sautés the slices, tossing pepper, thyme and basil in as he goes, adding yet another scent to the medley. The figure that’s been created by everything else suddenly swings the katana and this time, you can almost hear it sing as it strikes an answering blade.

The moment the zucchini is done, Izaya’s off again, turning off the burner before going to the bread and removing it till it sits on a cooling wire rack. And then he’s off again, grabbing the tuna before moving to another chopping block. There, he rinses his knife before deftly shredding the tuna. The slight smell of fish brings to mind an ocean that’s near the fighters while the onions that he’s quickly dicing conjure up sharp sea cliffs.

It’s at this moment that Shiki realizes something. The only other person he’s ever seen such a clear mental images from the smell alone is Shizuo. Yes, it’s not as clear. It fades in and out but it’s there and it blows him away because then he understands why Shizuo still hasn’t said a word.

He’s impressed and unwilling to admit it.

Meanwhile, Izaya’s mixing the onions and tuna to the mayonnaise before leaving it in favor of the tomatoes and the cheese. Those he slices into perfectly uniform slabs before darting off again. The smell of the pepper jack and the tomato combine with everything else and suddenly the imagined fighter sustains a cut and the blood stains his cloak. Meanwhile, Izaya slices the bread, discarding the heel before only cutting three slices off. These he slides into the oven, which is still warm from the bread baking.

Turning to Namie, Shiki is unsurprised to find a wide eyed expression on her face. She’s just as amazed as him. After everything, assuming that the boy was all talk and a fancy resume, he’s proving exactly what they asked him to prove. He can indeed cook.

As Izaya pulls the lightly toasted slices of milk bread out, he lays them out before evenly spreading the tuna mayonnaise mix over each piece before topping them with the sautéd zucchini, tomato and cheese. All together, it fills out the picture in Shiki’s mind. Suddenly, the bleeding warrior strikes hard and starts to fight in earnest, beating the other back with swift, efficient movements, even as the warm sea breeze whips around them.

Into the oven they go before Izaya reaches for three plates and lays them out on the counter. Into the refrigerator he goes before withdrawing a few of the leftover persimmons from the new recipe Shiki had been experimenting with earlier. The older chef can almost feel the smirk that Izaya doesn’t actually show but clearly feels. Drawing his knife again, Izaya cuts the fruits into perfect wedges which he arranges on the plates before dribbling lime juice on them.

The sweet smell translates into a moment where both fighters stand still for a moment. At the edge of the cliff stands the enemy and before him, the proud warrior. Both are still.

In reality however, Shizuo, Shiki and Namie are all moving around the counter to where the three plates sit, sensing the conclusion of this beautiful dance coming to an end. Shiki’s in awe, though he doesn’t want to admit it. What the boy has managed to do, even with the attitude and the smirks, is nothing short of amazing.

Then Izaya pulls the open faced sandwiches out of the oven and even though he’s already eaten, Shiki’s mouth waters. As the forceful scent swirls up, the scene is complete.

The warrior strikes with the flat of his blade and his enemy falls over the edge of the cliff, his screams disappearing as he hits the waves.

Pushing forward the three perfect looking plates, Izaya tilts his head up. Immediately, almost like he’s daring the man to say anything, his red eyes lock on Shizuo. “If you’d all like to take a seat,” he hisses, his tone so damn vindicated that it makes Shiki’s skin crawl, “I’ll serve you.”

Shizuo lets out a soft growl under his breath before grabbing the plate. Despite his initially fast movements, Shizuo handles the food with care as he walks out of the kitchen, smoke practically trailing after him as he goes.

More slowly, Shiki accepts the plate Izaya offers him and follows, Namie close on his heels. They find Shizuo already seated at the bar, staring hard at the food like he’s trying to find some flaw in it but can’t find anything. Sitting beside him, Shiki sets the plate down and isn’t surprised to find Izaya already behind the bar, setting out forks and knives for each of them.

Looking up at Izaya, Shiki studies the boy for a moment before nodding slightly. Though he doesn’t want to, he feels the need to give approval where it’s due. This boy has so far impressed all of them, others more grudgingly perhaps than others. When Izaya’s eyebrows raise in what’s almost a smirk but not quite and nods back, Shiki carefully takes a bite, noting before he does so how perfect the consistency and appearance of each component is.

Naturally, any number of his dishes would be comparable, but he’s had years. Decades. Izaya’s only twenty-three.

Then the food touches his lips and whatever else Shiki’s thinking is forced to take a backseat as the flavor takes over his senses. The choice of lime juice instead of lemon for the mayonnaise, coupled with the other tart ingredients is sharp, while not spicy. The sweet elements of the tomatoes and the tuna contrast it perfectly. Below it all, the perfectly prepared milk bread, with a heavier cream used to braise the top instead of milk, gives it a billowing base. It’s not just as good as what he can make, it’s almost better.

From across the table, Namie makes a sound that’s almost a moan of sheer overwhelming delight that echoes what Shiki’s feeling. It’s been ages since he’s tasted something this good and it makes him regard the boy in front of him with a whole new light. Now, that smirk makes sense. He’s got every reason to be proud. The things his hands can create are pure magic.

“Tuna melts, right?” Shiki asks, smiling slightly as he takes another bite, unable to resist. The persimmons, which already have their own honey flavor, are curbed with the lime which ties them into the rest of the meal excellently. “Impressive that you were able to find what you needed.”

“I didn’t,” Izaya states blandly. “But with a little foxing around the edges, I managed.”

“It’s good,” Namie says at last, sounding grudgingly impressed. “I like this take on them, I might have to try this recipe someday. I have a feeling with a few more oriental tweaks, it would be well accepted back in my restaurant.”

A gleam entering his eyes, Izaya comments, “It wouldn’t be very hard, ne? Plus, if the bread is already baked, the process is many times faster.” Attention drifting to the only one who hasn’t spoken, Izaya’s smile turns to a taunting smirk. “What about you Shizu-chan? I would have expected you to yell at me at least for  _ show.  _ Why are you so silent?”

Shizuo looks up and anyone who knows him would be able to see the flatness in his eyes. “It’s empty.”

Izaya’s brows furrow slightly, as if confused with this response. “Eh? Empty? I assure you, I didn’t make it hollow.”

“Your soul is empty,” Shizuo spits, his voice tight and controlled. “I can taste it in your food. It’s disgusting.”

Izaya seems genuinely taken aback by this, like out of all the things Shizuo could have said, this is the one he never saw coming. Admittedly, Shiki hadn’t seen it coming either. Never once in all his years of cooking and evaluating the cooking of others, Shizuo’s never said word one of a soul. 

“But what does my soul have to do with cooking,” Izaya asks, his tone derogatory, almost like he’s humoring an elderly person.

“Your soul always affects your cooking,” Shizuo told Izaya, his eyes beginning to blaze. “Whatever’s there will be reflected into it.”

“That’s crazy,” Izaya hisses, though Shiki can see the confusion clouding his mind just in the way he leans back. “This isn’t even a critique of my food!”

“It doesn’t matter how good your food is.” Shizuo’s voice holds such vehemence, Namie and Shiki both lean away. “If there’s nothing in  _ you,  _ then it will  _ always  _ taste like shit!” Gritting his teeth, Shizuo stares into Izaya’s red eyes and bites, “Get out.”

Shiki half expects Izaya to protest, to attempt to point to his and Namie’s reaction to his food as proof that the Raven is good enough, but he doesn’t. He just draws himself up, tilts his chin in the air and says with all the airs of a god, “Very well.” Bowing again, he says, “Have a wonderful evening, Shizu-chan.” Removing his apron and leaving it on the bar, he turns and walks out, grabbing his coat as he goes.

By the time Shiki comes to enough to turn around, the man’s already vanishing out of sight.

For a moment, Shizuo just sits there, still breathing heavily, then he curses loudly. “Fuck!” The word echoes around the restaurant, giving lie to how empty the thing really is. Then Shizuo shoves away from the bar and storms away, almost more angry than he was when he came.

Turning to Namie, Shiki gently pushes his plate away before realizing, as she has, that Shizuo’s plate is the only one of the three that’s empty. Looking up at her, he hikes an eyebrow up. “So…”

Pursing her lips, Namie murmurs, “That just happened.”

Taking a deep breath, Shiki’s about to speak when Namie cuts him off. “Do you have Izaya’s number?”

Cocking his head to the side, Shiki asks, “And why would you need it?”

“Just trust me,” Namie says, holding out a small, blank card before offering Shiki a pen. “He’s going to need it.”

Pulling it closer, Shiki murmurs, even as he pulls out his phone and starts copying the number down, “I believe he made his answer quite clear.”

“Trust me,” Namie grumbles. “Just because he’s good in the kitchen doesn’t mean he knows how to deal with people. I’ll give it to him.”

Handing it over, Shiki decides to just accept that the situation is out of his control. Whatever happens from now on is up to Shizuo. He does, however, send a prayer up to whatever god is listening that the two of them don’t end up killing each other.

_ That, after all, would be quite unfortunate. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the over the top descriptions of the cooking process will stop eventually. Maybe...


	3. French Onion Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Namie watches things unfold exactly as she'd expected and she's unsure how to feel about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? You're still with me? 
> 
> I haven't scared you away yet? Excellent!
> 
> In other news, I'm finally updating this thing!
> 
> I know, terrifying. 
> 
> But in all seriousness, I feel great! I wrote some smut last night for A Little At A Time (and by some I mean holy shit, did I really just write that much porn?) so now I feel properly detoxed. 
> 
> Onto this I suppose~
> 
> Enjoy!

_ Present, 4 days later _

~

The neat, professional looking woman stands just in front of the corridor funneling new arrivals into the airport proper. Every few moments, she checks her watch, sighs in irritation, then turns back to her earlier task of watching each person that appears with the same level of intense scrutiny. Who she's waiting for is unclear, but there’s a certain air of impatience around her that deters further questioning.

She’s dressed oddly, not in casual clothing as one would expect, but in a strange set of chef’s whites. It’s this more than anything that identifies her. After all, there’s only one person who wears this combination of a short slim white skirt, long sleeved white button up and long white coat. Or at least, there’s only one with such long chocolate hair, such a deep frown, and such a prestigious record.

Namie Yagiri, for that’s who it is, grinds her teeth together.  _ His flight landed five minutes ago. What part of hurry was unclear? _ She is, of course, waiting for Izaya Orihara to arrive.

Honestly, though she’d predicted this moment, she never actually thought it would happen. Namie had heard Shizuo’s sharp and biting words when he’d spoken of the young, aspiring chef, she  _ knows _ the man annoys Shizuo to no end. So when she’d left her kitchen and, after waiting outside of it for several minutes, heard Shizuo dial the phone and address the person on the other end as  _ Izaya, _ she’d been surprised enough.

But to find out that Shizuo had told the boy to meet them in Paris, the blond chef’s next stop, instead of simply letting him have the job he’d originally applied for at Shiki’s restaurant, had left Namie understandably surprised. He hadn’t even explained himself, he’d just told Namie to pick Izaya up at the airport and take him to the restaurant he had in the heart of Paris. Well, she isn’t about to question him to his face, but Namie’s not above wondering what the hell had gotten into Shizuo while she stands in a crowded airport, glaring at anyone who has the nerve to stare at her.

Certainly, it’s what she’s doing right now. Hence the deep frown on her face.  _ He’s never made sense, I swear, he acts on instinct ninety percent of the time. _ Tapping her foot, she huffs and turns away from the new arrivals for a moment. As much as she respects the skill that it takes to get where Shizuo has gotten in the amount of time he’s taken to get there, Namie’s pretty sure most of the decisions he makes outside the kitchen are entirely asinine.

Choosing to place himself in the way of someone who clearly pisses him off, that’s just an example of this stupidity. 

Then she hears a gasp by her ear and her train of thought crashes as her annoyance flares. “Namie-san? Sent here to collect me personally? I’m flattered!” Turning, she stares at Izaya, who leans down to her level so he can look at her in the eyes and grin. “I think Shizu-chan secretly likes me, what do you think?”

Remembering Shizuo’s shouts, which had echoed through Shiki’s restaurant, Namie gives him an unimpressed stare. “Shut up, I’m not even sure why you’re here.” True enough, she doesn't know why this is happening at all, she just knows that Shizuo has been noticeably more touchy about any subject related to Izaya than she's seen him get about  _ literally _ anything else.

Every time she’s dared to bring him up, Shizuo has flown off the handle at her, cursing her out in his usual bombastic manner, furious that she’d ‘dare to mention that  _ flea _ in my presence, I hate him!’. After a while, she’d given up. Standing in front of Izaya now though, all those questions are crowding her mind once again.

“Well, he did mention his restaurant here~” Izaya coos, his eyes bright.  _ Is it annoying Shizuo that puts that look in his eyes, or simply the idea of cooking? _ She can’t tell when it comes to this man.

“He mentioned that to me too,” Namie mutters sarcastically. When Izaya snickers, she grinds her teeth together. “Just get your luggage and come on, I hope you’re ready to cook.”

“Always,” he hisses.

As they go about making their way out to the taxi, Namie watches Izaya. Truth is, despite being a smarmy bastard, he isn’t all that bad. After watching him cook, she knows that this show he likes to put on is just that, a show.  _ Empty, that’s what Shizuo called him. _ Except the blond chef has called Namie’s cooking empty for years and he’s never treated her the way he’d treated Izaya.  _ Was it really just his personality? _

Or maybe it's just his personality around Shizuo.

Because as she watches him flit through the airport, brushing shoulders with people and generally interacting with his surroundings, Namie sees something different. She sees a force that naturally attracts attention. As he passes, people’s eyes follow him, like he’s a magnet. Namie can’t deny that he’s charismatic, charming even, but by the same token, he’s so self-assured it’s off-putting. He doesn’t think anything can touch him and Shizuo calling him back even after humiliating him in such a blatant way clearly only reinforced this idea.

_ What does Shizuo think he’s doing? _ Well, in a week she’ll be heading back to her restaurant in Hong Kong and she won’t have to deal with Izaya anymore so it hardly matters.

“So what made you apply in the first place?” It’s the first question Namie bothers to ask Izaya, even after twenty minutes of terse (only on her part though) silence in the back of a taxi. Izaya’s eyes brighten as he turns from the window to look at her with glee. Even though she’d been the one to ask the question, Namie feels like  _ she _ is the one being examined and not Izaya.

“Why does anyone apply to a job like that?” Izaya returns, twirling his fingers. Smirk growing once more, he waits as if he honestly wants Namie to answer before sighing and saying, “Because that’s what people like me  _ do _ Namie-san, we try to get jobs doing what we’re good at.”

“You could have applied  _ anywhere _ else and have had an easier time of getting in,” she presses, her frown deepening. “If you applied, surely you knew how rare it was for people to get picked. Why bother when there were a thousand other restaurants that would have snapped you up in a second.”

Izaya narrows his eyes, no doubt wondering why Namie’s asking these questions at all, before shrugging lazily. “It hardly matters now, ne?” Namie hates the way he instantly goes back to being a smug bastard as if he doesn’t want to bother being anything else. “I got hired. After everything, Shizu-chan still called me.”

“But what if he hadn’t called you,” Namie presses, frustrated. “What then? Would you have just applied for other jobs? Didn’t you start doing that the moment he kicked you out?” She isn’t sure why she’s pressing this issue so hard, but Namie wants to understand what’s going on inside Izaya’s head.  _ Shizuo says he’s empty, but there’s clearly something there. At least I have my ambition and my obsessions to keep me from being entirely empty. Izaya must have something. _

Looking back out the window, Izaya languidly says, “Back when I was in school, a professor once told me something.” In the reflection, Namie can see that his eyes are glazed somewhat in memory. “He said that Shizuo’s restaurants were all the same, for all their differences. If I belonged there, they’d know and they’d hire me. If not, then they wouldn’t. It was that simple.” Glancing back at Namie, Izaya smiles. “Apparently, I belong somewhere because here I am.”

_ Oh yes, his school. _ Namie knows that she instinctively turns her nose up at most culinary schools, but she’s never really cared that she’s prejudiced. She’d never gone to one, she’d watched her father and then she’d learned the rest on her own, pushed by an obsession to answer her own internal questions. It’s stupid, but she feels like she’s come by her skills honestly. People who go to those schools, it’s because their parents are rich enough to send them there.

If Izaya hadn’t already demonstrated how skilled he was, she would have kicked him out already.

“I bet your parents are glad they’re getting their money’s worth out of that school,” Namie mutters derisively, crossing her legs and arms in irritation.

Izaya’s laugh is dry and for the first time since she met him, Namie can almost see the emptiness Shizuo had spoken of. “What makes you think they contributed a penny?”

Eyes widening, Namie turns to ask Izaya to explain what he means by that, but he’s already drifting away from the conversation, not caring in the slightest. It’s just as well actually because a few seconds later, their taxi pulls up to the hotel and Namie has to actually do something again.

“Don’t bother getting out,” Namie orders Izaya, back to business. “Someone will take your things up to the room. We’re leaving as soon as I’ve got it all sorted out. Do you need anything from your bags right now?”

Izaya smiles and pats his ridiculous coat, the same one he’d been wearing before the fateful test. “No, I have everything I need right here.” Nodding, Namie slides out of the car and quickly goes about getting everything sorted out, then they’re on their way, headed for the restaurant. 

Every restaurant that Shizuo’s started has the same name, though you’d have to be a fool to mistake them as the same. Each one is entirely different, their only similarity being the name they’re known by. Named after the city Shizuo had allegedly been born in, the restaurants are called  _ Ikebukuro. _ It’s amusing on multiple levels and Namie has always held it up as proof that when it comes to things unrelated to food in some way, Shizuo’s notoriously uncreative. 

All thirteen  _ Ikebukuros _ have garnered critical acclaim on their own, without the need to springboard off of the others. Though admittedly, every consecutive restaurant Shizuo has started possesses a pretty good reputation to begin with, considering all the ones before have three Michelin stars and worldwide fame already. That being said, Namie’s careful to never make the mistake of equating any two restaurants. They’re all original, unique. It would have been like calling apples and figs the same thing because they’re both fruits.

To make things easier, most people refer to the restaurants by different names, depending on where they are. This one has been affectionately dubbed, in the manner all the others have been given nicknames before it, as  _ Kuro Paris. _ It lies at the heart of the city and everyone knows it’s one of the best restaurants in the country.

As they get closer to it, Namie decides to give Izaya the run down. “Okay,” she starts, her voice clipped and short. “I’m not exactly sure what we’re headed into, Shizuo’s been there for two hours so most likely, it’s currently functioning as a highly productive madhouse. I don’t know what he’s going to expect us to do but as I said, be ready to work. Don’t ask questions, just do what he tells you.”

“Do I look like an idiot?” Izaya asks, his tone simpering. “I  _ know _ how Shizu-chan runs things.”

“It’s one thing to see it on a tv screen,” Namie tells him bluntly. “And it’s a whole new can of worms to deal with in when there are a million other things going on that you have to keep track of.” Cocking one eyebrow up, the woman reminds him, “The last time you dealt with Shizuo, he didn’t say a word to you. Don’t expect that treatment twice in a row, or ever again probably.”

“Namie-san, so helpful!” Izaya coos, his eyes narrowed. “I’m delighted that you would decide to help me at all. And here I thought you just wanted to see me get kicked out as soon as possible. ” It’s phrased like a statement, but Namie can hear the question in the wording.  _ Why are you helping me, _ he’s asking.

“Look,” she says, grumbling. “I don’t give a shit what happens to you. If you stay on, fine, if you wash out, also fine. Your position relative to me is circumstantial at best. What I will say, however, is that Shizuo’s mood is directly impacted by you. If your mere presence irritates him then I’m going to encourage you to make sure that nothing else about you makes that irritation worse because he  _ will _ take out his anger on us.”

“How self-serving of you,” Izaya comments, looking almost pleased by this fact.

“Shut up,” Namie says, without any real bite to it. “In addition to all that, I don’t know what’s in store for you. Maybe, you’ll stay here and work under Ms. Sonohara. Or Shizuo might take you with him when he leaves and deposit you at a different restaurant. But there’s also a chance you’ll just keep following him. I don’t know what your future is and I’m not going to pretend I do but if you want that future to exist, you’re going to need to fall in line.” 

“I’m not known for simply conforming,” Izaya warns, though he sounded gleeful as if pushing the boundaries is his favorite thing to do. “I’ve been told I’m my own person.”

“Mhm,” Namie mutters, her tone unchanging. “And I’ve been told that it would be best if I stop conforming to traditional gender roles, get out of the kitchen, and become a scientist. Do you see me listening to what others say? No, because I’m my own person and I make of myself what I want. Now stop complaining and pay attention because we’re here.”

The three-story building that makes up the restaurant is very location appropriate in style. With its stonework, tawny bricks, and beautiful terraces and patios, it’s traditionally French through and through. Of course, one would expect nothing less when the building has been refurbished and redesigned by Kasuka Hanejima, a star of the architect world and a close friend of Shizuo’s. The chef treats the man like a little brother and in return, Kasuka makes sure that the buildings that house Shizuo’s cooking are as appealing as the food itself.

Izaya, of course, pays no heed to the frankly impressive building, he only glances up at it once before following Namie through the back door of the kitchen. Honestly, the woman is unsurprised. Izaya isn’t the type to be awed by fancy things or fancy people. It is, she suspects, as much a benefit to his career as it is a detriment. 

No sooner had they walked through the doors and Izaya had hung up his coat (retrieving his chef’s knife while he does so), that the noise of the kitchen is blown over by Shizuo’s roar. “YOU CALL THAT A FUCKING CROQUE-MADAME? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK THIS PLACE IS? A SHITTY CAFE?”

As they step into the bustling kitchen, careful to keep on the outskirts so they won’t interfere with the cooks, Namie and Izaya both get to watch as Shizuo bellows at the unfortunate woman, “I don’t FUCKING CARE if it’s just a croque-madame! I don’t CARE if it’s the simplest thing on the goddamn menu. We are in FRANCE and that means if we can do nothing else right, we had better be able to cook a croque-madame and it had better bE THE BEST FUCKING CROQUE-MADAME IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING COUNTRY!”

Tossing the food in the trash, Shizuo snaps, “DO IT AGAIN!”

Izaya is, amazingly, entirely unperturbed. No, his eyes are skating over the whole of the kitchen, taking it in quickly and efficiently. A second later, Namie understands what he’s doing.  _ He’s analyzing the way the kitchen moves, the flow of it. _ In case he has to jump in and start working, right? Namie can only assume this is the reason.

Shizuo’s currently working on several dishes at once, while at the same time maintaining perfect control of the rest of the room. Namie doesn’t doubt for a second that while Anri is a perfectly capable head chef, she’s likely glad for the break. Because after all, head chefs don’t get breaks, they live and breathe their food and they rule their restaurants from the moment they step through the doors to the day they move to another location entirely. When Shizuo shows up to one of his restaurants though, whoever the head chef at that branch is, gets a reprieve.

Now, this isn’t to say that the blond man ever interferes with existing dynamics, he just yells a lot more than most others.

Noticing them hanging back by the back door, Shizuo scowls before beckoning the two of them forward across the busy kitchen. “Oi!” he grumbles, glaring at Izaya before turning to Namie and simply frowning. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Picking up Izaya,” she reminds him, though she doubts he’s forgotten. When he grinds his teeth together, confirming her suspicions that he does indeed remember, she continues, “Just like you told me to do.”

Huffing, as if even this small bit of time spent on the Raven is an affront, Shizuo mutters, “Whatever, I’ll deal with him. Can you take over these soups for me?” Nodding crisply, Namie finishes tying her apron, which she’d grabbed before walking across the kitchen, and swaps places with Shizuo smoothly. It’s clear they’ve done it before, but then, every one of Shizuo’s head chefs can work with the blond this smoothly. It’s a requirement for a peaceful kitchen.

Quickly tasting both pots to determine what she’s working with, Namie places then as Consommé and Tourin. Though she wants to take a moment to attempt to pick up the threads of the story woven into the food, she doesn’t have the skill nor the time to do so. Not that it really matters in the long run. This, after all, is considered her forte. The simple complexities of putting together the perfect soup or stew have always held the most allure to Namie of all types of cooking and it shows. As always, Shizuo lets her play to her strengths, even though she could have done any other job in the kitchen with a comparable level of success.

But Shizuo doesn’t like settling for excellent when he can get  _ perfect. _ Namie and her soups are that level of perfection he looks for.

Despite the majority of her attention being focused on the Consommé, which she’s stirring carefully, watching as the fat starts to rise to the top and collect in the center, Namie can’t help but watch Shizuo curiously. He’s staring at Izaya and if looks could kill, the man would have been dead. Unfortunately, or perhaps, fortunately, Izaya seems unaffected.

“You~” Shizuo’s voice is low and disgusted. Izaya simply smirks. “So you actually showed up. I was hoping there would be an  _ accident.” _ Namie  _ doesn’t _ laugh at the slight slip of Izaya’s placid expression, no, she’s focusing on whisking the Tourin sharply. That’s her job after all.

“What a shame I’m still alive then, Shizu-chan,” Izaya mocks, catching his earlier slip up quickly and returning to his usual self. Looking about the kitchen with a hunger in his eyes that only another chef would recognize, he chirps, “I do hope you won’t make me just  _ stand _ here.”

“Fuck. Off,” Shizuo spits.  _ “You _ are not in charge here, I’m in charge of you and Anri Sonohara is the head chef in this kitchen.” Pointing to the woman, who’s slicing salmon into paper-thin sheets at the speed of light, Shizuo growls, “If you argue with either of us while we’re in this kitchen working, you’re out on your ass. I don’t have the patience for your shit.”

Namie really does smile at that because she’d gotten the same talk at one point or another. It’s relatively standard actually, Shizuo likes people to know where they stand when they first arrive. They can move up from there, but at the beginning, they’re all the same. Now, she gives that same speech to all her new cooks. Funny how the world works.

“But of course Shizu-chan,” Izaya hisses, voice dripping with false sincerity. “After all, I’d hate it if my presence, ah,  _ disturbed _ the natural order of things any more than your grating personality did already.”

As if sensing the possibility of Shizuo blowing up from across the room, the bespectacled head chef passes the salmon she’s been slicing to another waiting cook before walking over to Shizuo and Izaya. Sparing a nod for Namie, who smiles thinly in response, Anri looks Izaya up and down, taking in his non-traditional chef’s attire ーpitch black instead of whiteー his raven hair and finally, his devilish smirk before turning to Shizuo.

“So this is Izaya,” Anri says softly, focusing on Shizuo rather than on the man she’s talking about. It’s a move that Namie would have made herself if she’d had the chance, but she hadn’t so she’s glad Anri is doing it for her. Izaya needs to be knocked down as many pegs as they can manage if he’s ever going to get better. “He is… not what I expected.”

“Yeah, he’s a lot shittier than you’d think,” Shizuo grunts, glaring at the man with venom in his eyes.

Miraculously, Izaya doesn’t ruffle, he just smiles simply and bows mockingly, his lips turning up in a smirk. “Only for you Shizu-chan.” Eyes narrowing slightly, Izaya turns his attention to Anri, who watches him with that surprisingly blank stare she’d mastered ages ago. “It’s a pleasure, meeting you at last Sonohara-san~”

Well, Namie has to give him points for that one. It  _ is _ an honor to meet someone like Anri. The female cook’s story for how she’d gotten where she was is, in Namie’s opinion, amazing. When Kuro Paris had first been constructed and Shizuo was operating as the head chef till he found someone to take over for him, there had been numerous candidates for him to consider. Namie herself had been a possible choice, the idea being that she could leave Kuro Hong Kong and take over the French restaurant while her Sous Chef, Shingen, took over in her stead. 

Heck, it had pretty much been officially decided. Shizuo himself had narrowed down the choices to just two, with Namie projected to come out on top. But then, as he so often tended to do, Shizuo decided to throw them all a curve ball.

Cue Anri Sonohara, a nobody who had no experience running a kitchen and no previous jobs to make her record look good. The blond chef had found her working at the bottom of the totem pole, languishing and wasting away in Kuro Liechtenstein. Under the often sporadic and unpredictable hand of the head chef there, Mika Harima, she had no chance of flourishing. She was destined to stay insignificant.

And yet, on a lark, Shizuo had moved her to the top, putting her in charge of Kuro Paris, much to the shock of everyone involved. Everyone had thought it wouldn’t work, and yet as it stood, Sonohara had turned the restaurant into Shizuo’s third-best branch.

Guiding her kitchen with a gentle voice and words of iron, Anri runs an undeniably tight ship without the need to even raise her voice. When there’s yelling to be done, she leaves that task to her Sous chef, Haruna Niekawa, her much more wild counterpart.

In fact, Haruna chooses that exact moment to snap, “Did you really just do that? What the hell do you think this sauce is supposed to be?! Curry sauce?” The cook she’s yelling at backs up a little, looking nervous.

Attention effectively redirected from Shizuo and Izaya, Anri turns towards the fiasco that’s quickly developing, “Ah, I should probably go deal with that,” she says in her usual soft way, watching her Sous chef and the unfortunate cook argue tiredly. “I’m very sorry Shizuo, I’ll-”

“No, let me handle it,” Shizuo mutters, one of his eyebrows twitching as he watches the scene. Namie has to keep her eyes trained on her Consommé as she carefully shifts it to the back burner and leaves it to simmer, but that doesn’t stop her from listening to the fight. Or more accurately, Shizuo’s one-sided dressing down of the stupid cook who’d garnered his ire.

“Taste it!” Haruna is exclaiming, her tone furious. “This is an embarrassment and he’s been serving it to the diners for almost an hour now! I can’t believe he’d be this stupid!”

Shizuo’s voice quickly follows after hers. “You fucking disgrace of a cook. I can’t believe they even hired someone as shit as you. Are you fucking blind or something? Who the  _ fuck _ puts tahini in a sweet sauce??” When the other cook only makes whimpering sounds, Shizuo barks, “Get out of my sight, leave your apron at the door, there’s no place for someone like you here.”

Namie spares a glance at Anri. The woman doesn’t object to Shizuo’s judgment, not that Namie had expected her too. Mistakes like these, though possibly tolerated in other kitchens, are not tolerated by Shizuo. If you can catch the mistake before it’s served, you get another chance.

But god help you if you served improperly made food to a customer. 

“Thomas was never going to last here,” Anri sighs, her words directed at Namie, who nods sympathetically even as she dashes some white vinegar and salt into her Tourin. The smells coming off of the soup make her wrinkle her nose and she turns back to what she’s doing for a moment so she can add a drop more vinegar to the soup. Instantly, the smell levels back out to that perfect aroma that is to be expected.

“Oi, Flea!” Shizuo snaps suddenly, drawing Namie’s attention. He’s glaring in the direction of Izaya, even as he keeps stirring the various batches of different sauces that were in the process of being made. “Get your ass over here.”

“But of course Shizu-chan,” Izaya purrs. Winding his way around Namie, he loosely stands next to Shizuo, his eyes fixed on the man’s face. “How can I be of service to you?”

Nostrils flaring like he wants to snap at the man, Shizuo finally points to the abandoned sauces and grinds out, “Fix these.” Namie raises her eyebrows at that. She’d expected him to toss the ruined sauces out. Asking Izaya to  _ fix _ them when he doesn’t even know what’s already in them, that’s a hefty task.  _ Why does he keep testing him like this? _

Lifting his head and closing his eyes, Izaya takes a deep breath before looking up at Shizuo. “The one in front is unsalvageable, I can’t fix that one.”

Shizuo’s grin is practically as evil as it can possibly be. “Around here, wasting  _ any _ food is a sin, especially a perfectly good sweet sauce like this, so you'd better figure out how to fix that shit right about now.”

“Hey, Namie!” Attention diverted, Namie turns and is met with the slightly insane eyes and off-kilter smile of Haruna. “Think you could start up a thick Onion soup for me, mellow taste, sorta sweeter?” Blinking at the Sous Chef for a moment while she orders her thoughts back into neat little rows, Namie reaches for a large saucepan.

“I think that’d be doable,” she confirms, checking on her Consommé quickly to make sure the mass of fat on the top hasn’t broken.

“Wonderful,” Haruna vanishes again as quickly as she’d come.

Finally letting herself be fully immersed in her soups, Namie’s fingers fly over the various things she has going before she walks towards the fridge to grab what she needs. Adding garlic cloves to the armful of beef broth, onions and various cheeses she needs, Namie snaps back to her workstation, already planning exactly how to take advantage of the time she has. 

As she fries the garlic before pushing both the finished soup and properly prepared garnish off to the side where it’s quickly snapped up by several other cooks, all intent on finishing their own recipes, Namie focuses on the Onion soup. Bringing the broth up to a boil, Namie takes a moment fiddling with the spices she has available to her, carefully putting pinches of various things in to bring out certain elements of the flavor.

Carefully increasing the amounts of oil and butter that she melts and stirs into the stock, Namie grabs for her onions and chops them quickly and evenly. Adding several more spices till the smell mellows further, Namie tosses the onions in and stirs them smoothly. The smell that starts coming off the food is mouthwatering. Even in a kitchen full of talented cooks, the aroma coming off of Namie’s work is unique.

Turning her head to the side for a moment, Namie observes Izaya and Shizuo. They’re working side by side, which is miracle enough, but they also seem to not be currently hostile towards each other which is probably a godsend. As she watches, Izaya tastes the different sauces and wrinkles his nose, then he starts reaching for spices, adding a dash of this and a pinch of that. As he works, she inhales, trying to catch a whiff of what’s becoming of the sauce.

But her onions start going translucent so Namie refocuses her attention elsewhere. Dashing in some cooking sherry, she stirs it quickly before moving the pot to a back burner to simmer. She’s about to move onto slicing the cheeses she’s brought out when Izaya suddenly invades her area. “Excuse me Namie-san~” he hums, peering into her Consommé.

“Hey!” she snaps, glaring at him. “What the hell-”

“I just need a little something.” Before she can even really protest, Izaya’s knife appears and he glides it over the mass of fat that’s properly congealing in the center of the simmering Consommé. As soon as he has some of the white blobs collected on his knife, he vanishes back to his own work. Namie blinks, unsure what the hell he’s doing but unconcerned either way. _ If something goes horribly wrong, _ she reasons.  _ Shizuo will handle it. _

Instead, she keeps slicing cheese, till she’s got enough for at least several orders worth of soup, depending on what Haruna and others need. Once she’s done with this, she moves the Consommé forward and digs a strip of cheesecloth out of a drawer. Carefully, she uses the cloth to skim the fat off the top of the soup, expertly removing it from the clearer liquid beneath. The smell that’s revealed is a sharp, clear scent that’s tempered by the heavier elements of the soup that give it body. Looking over the orders, she quickly prepares the bowls required for the second courses of the tables that ordered them.

Carrying the prepared dishes to a server, who would know which waiter to bring the food to, Namie turns back in the direction of her other soup, only to find herself met with a soft, sweet aroma. Head swiveling, it only takes her a moment to realize what it is. The sauces that Izaya’s been given command over are taking on a life of their own. But more importantly, he’s managed to fix the ruined sauce.

Though she wants to ask, she hears her name called and she leaves Izaya to his business. It only takes a few moments of thought to realize what he did though. Clearly, he used the sweeter fat from the top of her soup to counter the bitter taste of the other spices added. Honestly, she’s impressed, not that she’d tell him that. No, Namie’s got her mind focused on her caramelizing onions and the last few steps of her onion soup that she has to get through.

As she starts several other soups, always keeping everything orderly and efficient, Namie periodically glances over at Izaya and Shizuo. So far, the blond chef hasn’t said a word to the Raven, but she knows it’s only a matter of time. That time, however, seems to be slow in coming.

And yet it happens, and when it does, it’s loud and it happens when she happens to be walking near them.

“What the  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing?” Shizuo growls, bringing Izaya’s head up. His hand is poised over one of the sauces, a slightly spicier mix that’s going with the Daurade for table seven. Namie knows she shouldn’t pause, but that doesn’t mean that she listens to that voice in her head.

“I’m cooking Shizu-chan,” Izaya quips in return, his eyebrows raised delicately.

“Not with that spice combination you aren’t!” Shizuo snaps, his eyes dangerous.

“But it would make the sauce better,” Izaya attempts to reason, his tone even. Namie sees what’s coming before it does. She doesn’t even bother sticking around any longer because she’d rather not be in the blast radius.

“DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A RAT’S ASS WHAT YOU THINK WOULD MAKE IT BETTER?” Shizuo yelled, a vein throbbing in his forehead. Izaya’s face is a mask of shock, those words clearly not being what he expected to come out of the chef’s mouth. “THAT COMBINATION ISN’T WHAT THOSE PEOPLE OUT THERE ARE LOOKING FOR. WE ARE IN FRANCE AND YOU WILL COOK FRENCH FOOD.”

Mouth twisting into a momentarily bitter line, Izaya’s eyes narrow before his expression changes suddenly, turning into a pleasant and amenable face. “But of course Shizu-chan,” Izaya purrs, sliding the spices back into their places before picking up the spoon he’s been using to stir. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You know,” the soft voice of Anri comments as she leans around Namie to pour some of one of her soups into a shallow dish. “I don’t think Shizuo much likes that man.” Her observation is met with a snort from the older woman.

“Yeah, that would about sum it up.” Glancing up at the clock, Namie decides to console herself with the fact that no matter what, it’s only a few more hours till closing.  _ Shizuo’s going to be intolerable all evening… _

Because apparently, Izaya’s just that special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, I'm loving this.
> 
> In case you haven't noticed, these chapters are going to be rather varied in length. Basically, it's going to be whatever small plot arc I choose and I'll see it through in the same chapter. You know, to attempt to cut back on cliffhangers as much as possible.
> 
> Kanra-chan, I do hope it pleases you. Don't worry, Shizzy-chan's going to feel properly guilty for his horrible behavior next chapter ;p

**Author's Note:**

> ARE YOU STILL WITH ME???
> 
> No?
> 
> ...okay... *sighs sadly*


End file.
